Family get-togethers can be an out-of-body experience. I know these folks so well, my sense of observation seems to range around the room like an inquisitive drone. Uncle Jeb’s loud voice means he’s drinking too much and we should be alert for belligerence. Aunt Jen’s low moan is the first sign of a sobbing fit […]

Every few months, I visit an old friend, Julia, who has a small townhouse that overlooks the second tee of a golf course outside Las Vegas. A large pond sits next to the tee. I enjoy watching the year-round flock of Canadian geese who grace the pond and graze on the lush grass in front

When oppressed people find humorous ways to express their desire for freedom, I rejoice.  Before elections in Hungary this year, in a public park, some people set up a metal barrel with a picture of their corrupt president, Viktor Orban. For a small fee, bystanders were given a baseball bat to strike at the image.

I used to hate waiting in traffic, muttering and moaning to myself. Now, I’ve come to love stop lights. How did this miracle occur? A few years ago, I wanted to find a more positive mindset on our frustratingly slow streets. Radio music or news often added to my stress. Around this time, I discovered

A few of my clothes contain precious personal stories. Seemingly ordinary, some old shirts and dresses – those not imbued with the special importance of celebration, ceremony or sports – can still raise mirth or nostalgia after many years. In elementary school, my underpants provided me with confidence, for each pair featured a day of

I enjoy most invitations – to lunches, parties, weddings. However, sometimes folks ask me to unusual gatherings, such as drumming circles (decline), meditation groups (yes), remove invasive fish species from streams (sorry, I avoid slime), hike 50 miles around a mountain (an ecstatic accept). The other day I received the strangest invitation of all: to

Trying to get along with people and follow social dictates – or not – has given me some funny memories. It’s hard to forget meeting Clive, my posh sister-in-law Elaine’s new boyfriend. She prepared us ahead of time by saying he was very spiritual, a trait she apparently admired. When he arrived in our home,

“We’re all nurse logs for each other” is a phrase I saw on a t-shirt recently in Seattle, Washington. Locals understood what this meant. I grew up in the Pacific Northwest in a family of campers and hikers. Nurse logs were common in these forests: fallen trees that, over time, welcomed seedlings that sprouted in,

I’m not always clever enough to comprehend hidden agendas. But a recent incident whacked me over the head. My adult son lived in a different city, and I loved visiting him.  He often took me out with his friends for coffee, drinks, or a party. I enjoyed hanging out with his social group; this didn’t

Jane and Joe, who lived in Los Angeles, loved to throw a big Halloween party every year. Although I’d moved away, I found myself back in the City of Angels on Halloween and they insisted I come. Then I remembered Lowell, a college buddy of Joe’s. “Oh dear, I really don’t want to see Lowell.